A couple of hours later, Neria and the rest of the party appear again, to eat some of the provisions we've brought as well as patch each other up. They keep being attacked by the inhabitants of this temple- cultists, like the attack in the Chantry. There's also a central door up ahead which leads further into the temple that they couldn't get open, but they found a key to another locked room near the stairs, and that room had the key for the central door, so they're heading through that door next, now that they've explored all the other accessible rooms.

They head off again, leaving me alone with Brother Genitivi, who as it turns out, is pretty boring company. I try to start a conversation with him a couple of times, and, to his credit, he does make an effort to acknowledge my presence, but he keeps getting distracted by something he's noticed about the hall, or by something he's written in his notes. I even try to lie down and sleep at one point, but the cold stone floor is not very comfortable for sleeping on.

A few more hours pass, and I finally lose my patience. I'm. SO. BORED. In my boredom, a terrible idea comes to mind. Surely Neria and the others are far ahead enough now that I could follow them at a safe distance? Just to explore the temple a bit. I glance over to Brother Genitivi; he's examining something on the wall; whatever it is, it's too far for me to make out the details. Perfect. I tiptoe quietly towards the stairs, and then up the stairs, and listen. No sound from downstairs, so he hasn't noticed I'm gone. No sounds from the doorways nearby, so the coast is probably clear.

I wander in and out of the rooms to my heart's content. There's a few small libraries, but the books are mostly ruined or in a language I don't recognise. I step around and over quite a few bodies; the cultists who were attacking before, I assume. Then I go through the central doors, which enters into another hall and staircase. And more dead cultists. At the top of the stairs is a lit brazier. I hold my hands up to it, enjoying the warmth returning to my fingertips. The fire dances in reaction to my hands; I think it's reacting to my magic? That's so cool. Magic brazier.

There's a piece of parchment on a stand in front of the brazier. It's in the common tongue, but in a very old-fashioned font, so it takes me a little longer than usual to read it.

'This brazier, that stands atop the stairs in the great temple has always been something of a mystery to us. This is the brazier that created the beings we call the Ash Wraiths. This is where Andraste's followers immolated themselves and became the eternal guardians of Her temple.'

There's more, but I've read enough. Andraste's followers set themselves on fire and became…what, ghost bodyguards? Creepy. I enter the next chamber, where there are—you guessed it- more dead cultists, and…piles of ash. With scraps of cloth. I have a sinking feeling these are remnants of the Ash Wraiths the parchment mentioned.

I tread more carefully after that, straining to hear any sounds of movement before entering a room. I don't see any more suspicious piles of ash, but I do see dead… little dragons? Are they baby dragons? Poor things. And piles of dead sheep. Poor dead sheep. Eventually I hit a dead end and head back, towards a hallway I passed before. I say hallway, but parts of the temple haven't been built so much as hollowed out into caverns and walkways. This is one of those walkways. This walkway opens up into a massive open room, with a few more dead cultists, and a way out, judging by the chilly breeze and early morning sunlight pouring through the large opening in the wall. I step through carefully.

The wall opening leads straight onto a wide stone bridge, which ends right before a pathway flanked by two sheer cliffs. At the end of the path is another temple, that must be where Neria and the others went. And in the middle of the path is the colossal body of a dragon.

A proper, fully grown dragon. I hide partially behind a large rock, and fling a ball of energy at the dragon. It sizzles on impact, but otherwise the dragon doesn't move. Most likely completely dead. I move closer, and watch its body for the tell-tale up-and-down rhythm of breathing. It's definitely not breathing. Even closer, and I can see the myriad of injuries it's sporting. I know logically that Neria and the others would only have attacked in self-defence, but still. It's sad. I stroke the creature's scales a few times, praying that its soul went to the Maker, or wherever dragon souls go, and then move on.

When I enter the second temple, I see a figure standing guard at the back of the entrance hall. A rare non-murderous cultist, perhaps? As I approach the figure, I realise he's definitely not a cultist. I'm not even sure he's human, even though he looks human. I've never seen armour like he's wearing, for one. More importantly, he kind of…shimmers, a bit. Like disturbed water. Is he a spirit? Or a demon? No, he couldn't be a demon, he doesn't have a body, not a normal physical body, anyway.

"I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes," the figure says. My eyes widen; did he just read my mind? "You need not be afraid of me, pilgrim."

I step forward. "My friends, have you seen them? They were looking for the Urn."

I see no sign of them. Maker forbid—

"The pilgrims before you have not had harm befall them, by me or by the Gauntlet, so far," The figure assures me. The Gauntlet?

"What's the Gauntlet?"

"The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. All must undergo four tests of faith, and see how their soul fares. This is the only way to see the Urn."

So that's what they're doing, undergoing tests of faith?

"Is it dangerous?" I ask nervously.

"Only for the false pilgrim," the Guardian answers.

Ok. Not entirely sure what that means.

"Can I try the Gauntlet?"

"Of course, if you wish." The Guardian gestures towards the door behind him. I hesitate; I don't want to make him angry, but I'm so curious, I have to ask.

"Guardian?"

"Yes, pilgrim?"

"What—I mean, who are you? Are you a spirit?"

"I am all that remains of the first disciples. I swore I would protect the Urn as long as I lived, and I have lived a very long time. It is my duty to prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste."

One of the first disciples? Andraste's followers? That would mean—

"Did you know Andraste?"

"Did anyone really know Her, save the Maker? She would sometimes spend weeks alone in meditation, often without food or water."

"Did you worship her?"

"I…cannot express in words my love for Andraste. You must seek her out for yourself."

I barely know anything about Andraste, apart from the basic story the Chantry drums into everyone's heads. The Maker chose Her for His bride, but she was already married to a fellow human man, Maferath. She waged holy war on the Tevinter Imperium which still worshipped the Old Gods, but she was betrayed by Maferath and sentenced to be burned at the stake. Then Hessarian, the Archon of the Tevinter Imperium at the time, felt sorry for her and killed her with the sword for a merciful death. The Maker was so angry with humanity for what they did to His beloved that He abandoned us all, and now the Chantry sings the Chant of Light as much as possible to try and get Him to forgive us.

It's weird to think of her as a real, living person, but I suppose she must have, otherwise we wouldn't have her story. Or her Ashes. But, surely she wouldn't fault me for not knowing enough about her to love her, would she? It's worth a try. Mind made up, I head towards the door, but the Guardian stops me.

"Before you go, there is something I must ask. I sense that the path that led you here has not been easy."

You sense correctly, Ser Guardian.

"N-No, it hasn't."

"You survived the Harrowing with the help of a spirit, you survived life in the Circle with the help of your fellow mages, and now, you survive a Blight-stricken land with the help of your cousin and her companions. You wonder if one who cannot survive on their own deserves to survive at all, in a world where you must be strong enough to face evil in all its forms. Do you deserve to survive?"

"I…" The Guardian is right. Travelling with Neria and her companions and being forced to stay back at safe distances, to sit and wait while they go and do heroic deeds… I feel guilty for getting in the way. But still…

"I think…I deserve to live long enough to find out," I answer finally.

"There is wisdom beyond your years in that response, pilgrim. I appreciate your honesty. Go then, and find your companions," he says, gesturing once more to the door.